"Archie, how horrid of you!" said she. "Just because I like people, and to a certain extent they like me. Why should I be cross and unpleasant to people, as if it was wicked to like them?"
"Well, if you'll give me long odds I will bet you that the Bradshaw asks you to—to be his 'ABC' before the end of the season," said Archie.
"My dear, what nonsense!" said she, with a sudden thrill of pleasure.
"What can have put that into your head?"
"I can see it. That's the way a man like the Bradshaw looks at a girl when his—his affections are engaged. He looks as if a very dear aunt was dead. He has amour triste."
That certainly hit off a type of gaze to which Helena felt that she had been subjected, and she laughed.
"Well, I'll give you five to one in half-crowns," she said.
"Don't. Some day I shall have twelve and sixpence."
They turned and cantered back along the soft track. The dew of night had not yet vanished from the grass, and the geometric looking plane-leaves, the rhododendrons, and the flower-beds were still varnished with moisture, and, early though it was, riders and foot-passengers were plentiful. Probably the day would be hot, for the heat haze, purplish-brown in the distance, was beginning to form in the air, softly veiling the further view. Presently they dropped again into a walking-pace, and Helena, whose mind had been busy on Archie's description of a certain sort of love-lorn look, spoke of a subject suggested by it.
"How do you think Jessie is?" she asked.
"That's exactly what my mother asked me last night," said he. "She's rather silent and preoccupied, isn't she?"